


Tit for Tat

by boonies



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5185799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Broke desperate college roommates Yunho and Yoochun decide to rob a pair of popular boyband members. Popular boyband members Changmin and Jaejoong take advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

For [jaendoe](http://tmblr.co/mGK4PddbZzou995QWbyS1ZQ) who told me _I need this_ ; based on [these tags](http://boonies.tumblr.com/post/130126392366/yellowberet-ghostmoritz-yellowberet-our).

 

* * *

 

 

 

"This is fine," Yunho says into the fridge, knuckles white around the handle, optimistic, "we have a can of lentils left."

 

"Hyung," Yoochun says, less so. "We don't have a can opener."

 

Yunho snaps the handle off.

 

"Fuck."

 

*

 

 

"My birthday's coming up," Jaejoong says, bored.

 

Perched on the windowsill next to him, Changmin sighs. "So's mine."

 

"What are you gonna get me," Jaejoong asks, eyes unfocused, nose pressed to the window, arms hugging the ledge.

 

"Dunno," Changmin mumbles, disinterested. "What do you want."

 

"Right now," Jaejoong complains with a wistful obnoxious pout, fingers tapping words out against the glass, "coffee."

 

"I want," Changmin amends, cranky, entitled, "someone to bring it to me."

 

A heavy branch snaps in the distance, thunder-loud.

 

Curious, Changmin turns to press his palms to the window, zeroing in on the tree-lined wall encircling the dorm. By the gate, a dark bushy head suspiciously peeks over.

 

"Sasaengs?" he asks with menace.

 

"Sasaengs," Jaejoong sighs, unimpressed.

 

One of the stalkers hooks a rope around a heavier tree branch and clumsily swings over, pantleg snagging on twigs.

 

"That's a dude," Changmin points out as the other one makes the jump, nearly beheading himself on the wrought iron railing.

 

Head cocked, Jaejoong slides the window up, squinting through a sudden gust of wind, "It's two dudes."

 

Changmin shoves him out of the way to look.

 

The intruders are both scrawny and noticeably awkward, hair cropped unattractively short, thin summer tees hanging off their bodies as if trying to depart for warmer climates, snowflakes pelting their bare arms, bony elbows reddened by the cold—

 

The shorter one suddenly pauses by the gate, anxiously scans the compound, then motions the other one over.

 

Fascinated, Changmin stares as they scuttle across the grounds and make a pathetic attempt to scale the dorm walls, the taller one peeling off the facade like a wet sticker, the shorter one seemingly rejecting the idea of gravity altogether.

 

"Hyung," Changmin asks helplessly, "what's wrong with them."

 

"They're stupid, Changminnie," Jaejoong explains with a patient pat to the knee.

 

"The girls' dorm is two blocks away," Changmin objects incredulously because why would guys be stalking guys, what man would be interested in another man, that's ridiculous, so, "should we tell them. The girls are that way. Hyung. We should tell them."

 

Jaejoong turns to stare.

 

"Changminnie—" he starts mildly then takes out his phone instead.

 

 

*

 

 

The lock snaps.

 

Yoochun eyes it warily, then shoves Yunho in.

 

Yunho stumbles, pawing for purchase, fingers slipping because he's wearing soft fluffy mittens they borrowed from Yunho's little sister in lieu of procuring actual leather gloves, sloppily-knitted scarf Yoochun half-assed loose around his face 'cause Yoochun couldn't find a pattern for ski masks and ran out of yarn anyway—

 

"Quickly," Yunho whispers, rifling through a mostly-empty cabinet.

 

Nervous, Yoochun brings shaky fingers to one of the drawers but he's not even sure what they're looking for because someone at school told him _money or blackmail material_ , so Yoochun tries to force his eyes to cooperate and see past the junk but it's all just gaudy cheap trinkets and gross half-naked polaroids of some overexposed girly idol—

 

"Hyung," he whines and accidentally backs into an overflowing closet, shimmery rainbow-colored sleeves briefly trapping him between two flashy suit jackets.

 

"Don't leave fingerprints," Yunho warns, distracted, waving around a mitten-clad hand.

 

A couple of yarn balls thump against each other, tangling the strings around his wrists.

 

There's maybe some muffled noises behind Yoochun but it's fine, it's fine because worst case scenario: they can presumably still be tried as juvenile delinquents or forcibly enlist—

 

"Found it," Yunho says, triumphant.

 

Yoochun hops over with reluctant excitement, pulse racing. "What."

 

"Our dorm key," Yunho breathes out, relieved, "I thought we lost it again."

 

Yoochun stares.

 

"Hyung," he starts tactfully, "we're looking for valuables."

 

"Yes," Yunho nods, clutching the key. He pauses, processing. "Nothing here is valuable."

 

Yoochun looks around.

 

There's a game system by one of the headboards but it's two console upgrades behind. There are three narrow beds, crammed too close together. There's a lamp, shaped like an elephant.

 

"Stealing is wrong," Yunho laments miserably, as though the reality of the situation has only now caught up with him and slammed him face first into a contrite sense of awareness, "it's so wrong, Yoochunnie."

 

"Starving is wrong, too," Yoochun reasons, gut unpleasantly hollow, brain at two percent, "so I guess I'll take the lamp and you can take the..."

 

Yunho looks around, sad.

 

"That jacket looks... expensive, maybe," Yoochun tries, nodding his chin at a pink studded mess strewn across the middle bed.

 

An offended huff sounds from the closet.

 

Startled, Yoochun scoots away.

 

Yunho gingerly plucks the jacket up, nose scrunched.

 

"Yoochun-ah," he deadpans, oblivious, "I don't think we can trade this for a can opener."

 

"Put it back."

 

Yoochun spins around, weak.

 

The guy from all the gross half-naked polaroids is standing before him, unsettlingly amused and flanked by a tall angry child.

 

Both of their cell phones are out, camera lights blinking red.

 

Yoochun pales.

 

 

 

*

 

 

"Changminnie," Jaejoong drawls, meticulously saving the video, "you wanted someone to bring you coffee, right."

 

"Yes," Changmin agrees easily, comprehension darkening his face.

 

Their two conveniently-summoned trespassers back up against the wall, caught.

 

"Happy birthday, hyung," Changmin says, pocketing his phone with a smug eager smile.

 

Jaejoong grins.

 

"Happy birthday, Changminnie."

 


	2. Chapter 2

"That one," Changmin says.

 

"But—" Jaejoong protests with a disappointed whine, palm proffered in the shape of paper.

 

"That one," Changmin repeats firmly, flexing his fingers as though they're real scissors, victorious.

 

"...I have a name..." That One tells him, offended.

 

"But—" Jaejoong complains again, gesturing with an impatient little huff, "I want—"

 

"You," Changmin interrupts, roughly beckoning the shorter guy over, and it's not that the taller one is intimidating—Changmin's not intimidated, okay—it's just that half of the other dude's face is hidden under a grotesque scarf and his eyes—the only visible feature—are sort of disconcertingly fascinating and so, "you."

 

You narrows his eyes. "It's Yoochun. My name is Yoochun."

 

"I don't care," Changmin explains brusquely, pointedly not looking at Nameless, "be here at five tomorrow."

 

"What," Yoochun recoils, horrified. "Five in the _morning_?"

 

"Bring coffee," Changmin threatens sternly, "or we call the cops."

 

Tall Frown steps forward, clasping a large protective hand over the curve of Yoochun's shoulder.

 

"Trespassing isn't a serious offense," he tries, scarf slipping off his face.

 

Okay, Changmin thinks, okay so his mouth is kind of nice, too, which is rude and uncalled for and weirdly troubling so Changmin appropriates Yoochun's bony wrist and yanks him closer, focused. "But burglary is."

 

"Slander, too," Jaejoong reminds airily, defending his dumb pink jacket.

 

Unyielding, Changmin shoves his phone screen at Yoochun's pale face.

 

"This is my class schedule," he instructs, serious, "my homework's due in two days. I will accept no grammatical errors or research inconsistencies."

 

Yoochun just stares, uncomprehending.

 

"Changminnie," Jaejoong slithers over to coax, voice raspy, "can't I just have this one because I need to get out of a fashion fitting and he's exactly my size—"

 

"You'll also need to sneak in a pizza when my manager leaves," Changmin tells Yoochun, greed kindling, because why hasn't this been a thing before, a personal assistant, a servant, how did he not ask for one sooner, "and then you need to sign approximately two hundred CDs I forgot to sign last night—"

 

"Hyung," Yoochun makes a small noise, turning despairing eyes to Tall Mouth Eyes. " _Hyung_."

 

"Let him go," Hyung says with authority and Changmin's spine prickles in disapproval, antagonized. "Nothing's stopping us from walking out of here and denying everything."

 

"Well, aside from video evidence," Jaejoong reasons, smiling stupidly at Yoochun, "this one gave us his name."

 

Yoochun flushes, mortified.

 

"Hyung," he allows, penitent, sacrificing, dramatic, "go on without me."

 

Hyung's jaw clenches.

 

"Blackmail is a more serious offense," he offers and Changmin narrows his eyes, allergic to being challenged.

 

"Okay," he asks Yoochun in retaliation, pats him down for a phone, then scrolls for Contacts, "what's your hyung's name."

 

"Yunho," Yoochun answers automatically, then winces, looking done with himself.

 

"Tomorrow," Changmin tells Yoochun, screenshots the info, and emails it to himself. "Five."

 

 

 

*

 

 

"That's not coffee," Changmin greets at 04:55, groggy, sleepy, outraged, "and you're not Yoochun."

 

Yunho shrugs, holding up a used tea bag and a chipped mug of water, haloed by the dim hallway light.

 

"We were... visiting your dorm because we don't have money," he apologizes but it sounds not at all genuine. "Can't buy you coffee without money, sorry."

 

Logic is not something Changmin's used to being utilized against him—and certainly not this effectively, so he gathers the sheets around him and hops up, weirdly awkward in his One Piece pajamas.

 

"Oh," Yunho perks up, sounding suspiciously friendly, gaze tracking Luffy, "my little sister has the same ones."

 

Face burning, Changmin violently kicks at Junsu's bed, sheets bunching up like a security blanket, and demands, "Money."

 

Half-dead, Junsu rolls over, hair matted unattractively to one side, and paws for the wallet under his pillow.

 

"Wait, what," he sobers but Changmin snatches the thing, soccer ball accessory scratching his knuckles, and tosses it at Yunho.

 

"Coffee."

 

Yunho stares at the wallet for a moment, then brings dark curious eyes to Changmin's. "You're not worried I'll just take the money and run."

 

Angry at the answers automatically populating his brain, Changmin bares his teeth and grits out, "Coffee."

 

 

*

 

 

"Strip."

 

Instinctively, Yoochun covers himself, tee shrinking in fright. "What, why—"

 

"We're the same size," Jaejoong sighs, exasperated, juggling a variety of questionable outfits.

 

"No," Yoochun refuses, pawing for the dressing room door, "I'm supposed to be signing CDs for Changmin, feel free to ask him—"

 

"Noo, I'm just stealing you for a little bit," Jaejoong clarifies breezily, girly idol mode engaged and in surplus, making Yoochun itchy and uncomfortable. "Don't tell him."

 

"Jaejoong-ssi," Yoochun gives up as Jaejoong experimentally drapes a mesh-shirt over his chest, "please erase the videos."

 

Jaejoong's mouth curls.

 

"Strip."

 

 

*

 

 

"I need to get a heater at night because it's winter," Jaejoong explains, radiating innocence, "and because it's cold and because they don't pay for heat."

 

"What do you mean they don't pay for—" Yoochun starts but Jaejoong unceremoniously topples him onto the middle cot.

 

"So you're going to be my heater."

 

 

*

 

 

"Hyung," Yoochun says over a cup of soggy noodles, huddled next to Yunho inside the bustling convenience store, conspiratorial, "I kinda think they're broke."

 

"Yeah," Yunho agrees with worry.

 

"They don't have heat," Yoochun continues, distressed. "Even _we_ have heat."

 

"Well," Yunho concedes, gaze distant, "we sold our hair to get heat but yeah."

 

Yoochun shivers, instinctively inching closer for warmth. "And I looked online and apparently idols live with huge debts and these guys are on hiatus so what are we even doing."

 

Yunho pauses.

 

"A job," he concludes, nose scrunched up. "We have jobs."

 

Yoochun stares at the steam around his chopsticks, sniffling. "Unpaid jobs."

 

They exchange amused glances.

 

"Internships."

 

Abruptly, Yunho grows serious. "Did that kid make you do anything weird."

 

Glassy-eyed, Yoochun sniffs and because omitting things from the conversation isn't lying, says, "Nah. What did Jaejoong do."

 

"Made me upload his selcas to instagram and then disappeared."

 

"Hyung..." Yoochun starts tactfully, "do you know what instagram is."

 

Sheepish, Yunho gestures vaguely at some distant Tesla mirage. "I'm sure I uploaded it somewhere, okay."

 

Concerned, Yoochun opens his mouth but his phone beeps.

 

_21:53 make sure it's YOU tomorrow_

 

 

 

*

 

When Yoochun shows up at 05:07 the next morning, Changmin is waiting, armed with a blanket and a detailed list of complaints.

 

"Your hyung uploaded a photo of my hyung to an animal shelter," he rants without preamble, disheveled, "and so now my hyung's been adopted seventy-nine times and the website crashed and as hilarious as that is—" he composes himself, mouth twitching, "you have to fix it."

 

Yoochun's shoulders sag in defeat.

 

 

*

 

 

"I'm not an ATM," Junsu objects with a loud nasally whine, crowding Changmin in the bathroom.

 

"My errand boy can't run errands without money," Changmin points out, reasonable.

 

"...shouldn't he be _my_ errand boy if it's my m—"

 

"Hyung told me to tell you," Changmin sighs, properly coached, "he still has a video of you at the—"

 

"I have to move out," Junsu mumbles to himself but hands the wallet over.

 

 

 

*

 

 

"You know I'm a hyung, right," Yoochun says, irritated.

 

"That's nice," Changmin waves him off, sliding a stack of borrowed study notes across the studio desk. "Copy these by tonight."

 

"I have a paper to write, too," Yoochun insists, stubborn. "So does Yunho."

 

Changmin's ears twitch helplessly. "Then you'd better hurry up with mine."

 

Yoochun grumbles but flips through the notes. "I can't believe I'm being bossed around by a high school kid."

 

"I'm taller than you."

 

Yoochun shuts up.

 

 

*

 

 

Bored, Changmin leans into his palm, playing with a dog-eared page.

 

"What's Yunho's paper about," he asks conversationally, not at all interested.

 

Yoochun gives him a suspicious glance.

 

"Doesn't matter," he starts, tired. "Your hyung made him take the train to Busan to pick up some cat."

 

Changmin bristles, only because he hates cats and because he specifically told Jaejoong and Junsu never to bring any home, not because there's a sudden unignorable stab of guilt cramping his chest—

 

"What's the paper about."

 

 

*

 

 

"I'm getting this cat," Jaejoong rasps out maniacally, forcing his phone in Changmin's face like a savage, " 'cause now that there's someone to take care of it, I figured—"

 

Changmin shoves him off, preoccupied.

 

"What are you doing," Jaejoong asks, deflating.

 

"Writing Yunho's paper," Changmin replies, stupid, then hastily backpedals, "no, I was—I was bored and had many strong opinions on... the... battle of... Haengju..."

 

"...sure."

 

Changmin swallows, fingers anxiously tapping against the keyboard, pure gibberish colonizing the page.

 

"Changminnie, we can trade..." Jaejoong suggests, slick.

 

"NO."

 

*

 

 

"Here," Yunho says and parks a cat carrier between Changmin and Jaejoong's cots at 04:59.

 

Some tiny gray demon furiously pokes a clawed paw through the grate, hissing like a possessed air vent.

 

Jaejoong flies out of bed to unlatch the cage, boxers bouncing as he lovingly scoops the cat up, cradling it to his naked chest.

 

It tears at his skin like tissue paper.

 

"I hate cats," Yunho mumbles and Changmin's heart gives a sleepy painful thud.

 

 

 

*

 

 

"What," Yoochun groans.

 

"Go pick up my dog," Changmin repeats, impatient.

 

 

*

 

 

"If hyung can have that thing," Changmin argues to the room, glaring at the ball of fury curled up atop the blinds, one claw stuck between broken slats, "I can have my dog."

 

As if on cue, Mangdoongie skips in from the hallway with a happy sharp bark, twisting around Yoochun's ankles.

 

Yunho's face softens by an immeasurable degree.

 

Helpless, he drops down to one knee, gently holding out his dumb yaoi hands.

 

"Hyung," Yoochun warns, cranky, "she's really fussy."

 

Shameless, Mangdoongie makes an eager beeline and pads over to enthusiastically lick at Yunho's wrist, then hops into his lap, aiming for his whole stupid face, tail wagging like a propeller and Changmin's gut twists with something deeply achy.

 

 

*

 

 

"I'm allergic to cats," Yoochun whines miserably, dread intensifying as Jaejoong sets up an ultramodern litter box, "turn me in to the police, I don't care, I'm not cleaning that thing."

 

"No," Jaejoong assures him, stuffing the cat in Yoochun's arms and aiming his phone, "Junsu can do that."

 

There's a muffled pterodactyl-like _WHAT_ from the bathroom as Jaejoong snaps a picture.

 

 

 

*

 

 

"I can't cook," Yunho says.

 

"That's very sad," Jaejoong acknowledges patronizingly. "Send Yoochun."

 

"He can't cook either."

 

"Send Yoochun."

 

"Hey, no," Changmin warns, grabbing at air, "I need him to do my laundry."

 

"Yunho can do your laundry," Jaejoong offers easily but no, no, Yunho can absolutely not do Changmin's laundry because Changmin's laundry has things Yunho can't see, things Yunho can never see, things Yunho—

 

"Okay," Yunho shrugs and starts for the hamper.

 

Changmin body-checks him out of the way.

 

"I'll do it."

 

 

*

 

 

"I can't cook," Yoochun apologizes, staring at the groceries piled atop the kitchen counter. "I can make you a sandwich? Raw bacon and strawberry sauce okay?"

 

"...if neither of you can cook," Jaejoong murmurs, uneasy, "what do you eat."

 

"Usually nothing," Yoochun admits, then perks up. "Sometimes, my mother—"

 

"No," Jaejoong breathes out. "I'll do it."

 

 

 

*

 

 

"Listen," Yoochun growls, knee-deep in gross half-naked half-autographed posters, sharpie stains peppering his fingers, "I need the night off."

 

"I don't understand," Jaejoong says, adorably confused, gesturing at himself as though his mere presence is an honor.

 

"It's been a week," Yoochun grunts, "I haven't seen my girlfriend in eight days so I don't care if I end up in jail, I'm not doing this all night again."

 

Eerily calm, Jaejoong uncaps a sharpie and resumes autographing a poster. "You have a what."

 

Yoochun pauses, the back of his neck breaking out in a cold sweat. "Girlfriend."

 

"Well," Jaejoong considers as the room cools considerably, "that's unfortunate."

 

Yoochun frowns.

 

"Because," Jaejoong continues, magnanimous, "I was willing to shave a few days off your sentence if you helped me delete negative comments off of my fancafe tonight."

 

"...wait, how long is our sentence..."

 

Jaejoong maybe says _indefinite_ but follows it up with a sugary, "A week less if you stay."

 

 

*

 

 

Yoochun adds to the negative comment count.

 

 

*

 

 

"Yoochun has a girlfriend," Jaejoong announces as though a world war has been announced, launching himself at the middle bed.

 

"Good for him," Junsu comments with satisfaction, nose buried in a sports manga.

 

Panicking internally, Changmin looks up from his phone, words spilling from his mouth in an embarrassing rush, "Does Yunho have one."

 

Jaejoong gives him a _we're talking about me now_ look and burrows under the covers.

 

His cat flees the mattress with an unfriendly banshee shriek, leaping over Changmin's face in the process.

 

 

*

 

 

"You made it sound like she decapitated you," Yunho chides, pressing a band-aid to Changmin's cheek, tongue poking out in concentration.

 

Changmin squirms atop the closed lid, straddling the toilet like a toddler, eyes crossing in an effort to focus on Yunho's mouth. "I'm an idol. This is the equivalent."

 

"Mm," Yunho indulges him, gently rubbing at the band-aid so it sticks.

 

"She scratched me here, too," Changmin starts but Mangdoongie flops atop Yunho's slippers with an attention-starved sigh.

 

"Oh, right," Yunho remembers, "Yoochun has to walk her."

 

"No," Changmin allows. "You."

 

"Mm," Yunho hums, agreeable.

 

Changmin tags along.

 

Just to make sure no one steals his dog.

 

 

*

 

 

"Is she pretty," Changmin recites dutifully, checking his palm for all the bullshit bullet points Jaejoong scribbled down.

 

"What," Yoochun frowns, bent over a pile of neatly folded clothes.

 

"Your girlfriend," Changmin continues robotically. "Is she pretty."

 

Yoochun grins, shy. "Yeah."

 

Changmin rolls his eyes. "Is she prettier than an idol."

 

Yoochun pauses to think, hugging a pressed pair of jeans to his chest. "She kind of looks like Kahi. So. Yeah."

 

Changmin doesn't know who that is so he disregards his palm and straightens out his favorite shirt with a disinterested noncommittal, "...what does Yunho's girlfriend look like..."

 

Yoochun ignores him.

 

 

*

 

 

"Because it's my birthday tomorrow," Jaejoong lectures, too energetic, "and because Changmin said we could trade—okay, fine, he'll probably say we can trade once I ask him, which I will totally do when we come back maybe, I don't know, I'll send him an email—and because I can tweet the video of you trying to—"

 

"Just say it," Yoochun surrenders, ready.

 

"You're coming with me to Gongju."

 

"WHY."

 

"...because it's my birthday..."

 

 

*

 

 

"He stole him," Changmin rages at Junsu, waving his phone around, screen flashing an irritating _back after my second birthday :3_

 

"Let it go," Junsu tells his DS, sprawled on the bed, buried under a tangled knot composed of Mangdoongie and Jaejoong's napping hellspawn.

 

"No," Changmin insists, stuffing a jacket into his backpack, "because now I have to go get him back which means I have to make Yunho drive me to Gongju and I'll have to spend—how far is Gongju."

 

"Two hours."

 

"AND SPEND TWO HOURS IN THE CAR WITH HIM," Changmin complains, heart pounding because who the hell wants to go on a winter road trip with some guy and buy snacks on the way and argue over the radio, definitely not Changmin, "MAYBE FOUR HOURS, I MEAN THERE'S A LOT OF SNOW."

 

Junsu glances at him, batting the cat's tail away, Mangdoongie's paw tucked under his chin.

 

"Yeah," he drawls. "You sound very upset."

 

Changmin packs an extra jacket.

 

*

 

 

"Yeah," Yunho says over the phone, voice rough with sleep, "I don't know how to drive."

 

 

*

 

 

Changmin's never been at the train station.

 

But right now, he's at the train station, snowflakes sticking to his white beanie, scarf pulled tight around his face, heavy snow boots grounding him at the deserted platform and out of the delicate glow of antiquated lamps, Yunho trudges closer, barely dressed.

 

"Here," Changmin says, proffering a thick winter jacket.

 

Grudgingly grateful, Yunho slips into it, mumbling, sleepy and soft and suspicious, "This makes no sense."

 

Changmin shivers.

 

"Yeah."

 


	3. Chapter 3

"It's okay to be in love with me," Jaejoong allows airily, snow-topped bus station shrinking behind them.

 

"Sure," Yoochun replies, trudging through the snow like a pack mule, four heavy bags cutting his circulation off, "but I'm definitely not."

 

"Well," Jaejoong concedes, pausing to reflect beneath the moonlight like a disadvantaged anime character. "Not yet."

 

Yeah, not ever, Yoochun decides, mourning his time with Changmin. Nice normal Changmin, who demanded so little, and disliked so much; nice normal Changmin who only used his evil to write Yunho's history paper and... get... Yunho... put on academic probation due to suspicion of plagiarism, but...

 

"Think of me as your most precious hyung, then," Jaejoong continues, obnoxious.

 

"I have Yunho," Yoochun returns immediately.

 

Jaejoong's expression sours.

 

"Isn't your birthday almost over anyway," Yoochun whines, toes numb, two of the bags dragging over the snow like carcasses.

 

"No," Jaejoong says with a strange cheerful smile. "I have two birthdays."

 

Yoochun makes a face, flexing his frostbitten fingers. "What, why."

 

"I was adopted," Jaejoong smiles and turns his back.

 

Oh, Yoochun falters, that is.

 

"Oh."

 

*

 

 

"Who's this," Jaejoong's mother asks happily, welcoming them at the door with towels and slippers.

 

"Friend," Jaejoong says, features warm.

 

Yoochun opens his mouth to protest, icicles hanging off his ears.

 

But Jaejoong's mother beams up at him, tiny and harmless, and so Yoochun smiles back with a soft indulgent, "Friend."

 

 

*

 

 

"Jaejoongie brought a _friend_ home," one of the noonas announces, eyeing Yoochun with interest.

 

"I'm more of an assistant," Yoochun hurries to explain and awkwardly hands Jaejoong a chopping board in the middle of a small cluttered kitchen.

 

Two other noonas exchange looks.

 

"I do things for..." Yoochun starts, mortified, "I give..." he blanches, volunteering a panicked, "I have a girlfriend."

 

All the noonas turn to stare at him as one, cartoonishly judgmental.

 

"He's helping me take care of my cat," Jaejoong says, unaffected, dicing peppers like he's being filmed for a culinary documentary. "Oh, right. Noona, I got a cat."

 

With disbelief, several of the noonas glance from Jaejoong to Yoochun, rightfully inspecting Jaejoong for bodily damage. "Who's... who's taking care of the cat right now."

 

Jaejoong's fingers pause, knife stilling.

 

"And now to traffic and weather," an ancient radio above the stove vent crackles, "Korail reports train 397 has become stranded en route to South Chungcheong due to heavy snowfall. More as the story develops; a winter storm warning remains in effect for—"

 

Wow, Yoochun thinks fleetingly, commiserating with the passengers as a fellow trapped hostage, and sends a quick thank you into the universe for at least keeping Yunho safe and warm at home.

 

 

*

 

 

"Are you crying," Jaejoong asks, seated next to Yoochun during dinner.

 

Yoochun's been functionally starving for weeks and deprived of home-cooked meals for close to a year, but he is totally not crying.

 

"I'm not," he insists, 60% perfect seaweed soup 40% human, flushed with embarrassment, eyes wet, chest tight, "I'm not crying."

 

Mildly smug, Jaejoong wipes at his cheek.

 

*

 

 

"Make my bed," Jaejoong throws over his shoulder, towel low around his hips.

 

"Where's _my_ bed?" Yoochun asks.

 

Jaejoong shuts the bathroom door.

 

*

 

 

"We're not sharing," Yoochun rants, ignoring how effortlessly coordinated their futon-assembly is.

 

"House rules," Jaejoong argues, straightening one corner. "It's not like you can sleep with my noonas or my dad."

 

Yoochun's shoulders sag.

 

*

 

"It's better to give," Jaejoong sermonizes with a meaningful leer, kneeling on the futon next to Yoochun, "than to receive."

 

Yoochun narrows his eyes at the phone proffered at him. "What."

 

"Happy My Birthday to you," Jaejoong explains and hands him the phone, turning salty. "Now you can actually answer when I call."

 

Yoochun has no intention of answering, either on his decrepit old brick of a phone or this shiny... new... "It's a touchscreen."

 

Jaejoong hides a satisfied grin, offering a hand. "I'll help you transfer the numbers."

 

Eyes sparkling, Yoochun digs out his relic of a phone, and dutifully reads off his most important contacts—

 

"Is this your girlfriend's number," Jaejoong interrupts eventually, overly friendly, fingertips tapping away.

 

"Mm," Yoochun nods, distracted by a page full of apps and discarding a vague sense of guilt because it's been several weeks and he still hasn't actually memorized her number.

 

"Okay, done," Jaejoong announces abruptly and tosses the new phone at Yoochun. "Switch."

 

As though conditioned, Yoochun hands over his old phone with a perplexed, "What are you doing."

 

"Just..." Jaejoong says, concentrating, fingers furiously pressing with purpose, "deleting your old data."

 

"What—" Yoochun starts, baffled, "why—" His contacts populate a slick bright page, with a beautiful new interface and a futuristic font and only two digits under his girlfriend's info. "This number..."

 

"Oh," Jaejoong apologizes theatrically, "did I put it in wrong."

 

"You didn't put it in at all!" Yoochun snarls, outraged.

 

"It's very late," Jaejoong's youngest noona mumbles sleepily, passing their room, nightgown sweeping the floor, "please have sex quietly."

 

 

*

 

"You're terrifying," Yoochun comments, stretched out on the futon, a human glacier.

 

"...you're the delinquent..." Jaejoong points out innocently, and leaves another _oppa's the best_ _♥_ on his own fancafe.

 

Grudgingly, Yoochun curls on his side, away from Jaejoong, and adjusts his phone's bookmarks, replacing a fancafe thread titled _hyung is a kidnapper_   with _he's an okay cook i guess_.

 

 

*

 

 

"House rules," Jaejoong breathes at midnight, wrapping around Yoochun like an unreasonable alien tentacle.

 

Yoochun allows it because it's cold and gusty and picturesque outside and snow is piling on the windowsill and because without makeup, with damp hair and a furnace of a body, Jaejoong is slightly less unpleasant.

 

So Yoochun closes his eyes and snuggles into the futon, stomach-down, sleepy and comfortable and—

 

"What the fuck is that."

 

"Boner," Jaejoong yawns, sprawled atop him.

 

Yoochun freezes. "Make it go away."

 

"Can't," Jaejoong breathes into his nape. "It's a natural reaction to cold."

 

"What—fuck, no it isn't," Yoochun grunts, unnerved. "Get rid of it."

 

"I'm trying," Jaejoong huffs, shifting. "What's nine times nine."

 

"I don't know," Yoochun pants, frantic, fingers tangling in the sheets, "eighty."

 

"That doesn't sound right," Jaejoong pouts, slipping lower on Yoochun's back. "Maybe math isn't a turn-off."

 

Yoochun tries to shake him off, pulse racing. "You said you only wanted—you didn't say you were gay—"

 

"I'm not," Jaejoong mouths at his shoulder blade, "I'm just cold."

 

"You said," Yoochun struggles, "clothes—trying on clothes—same size—"

 

"Yeah," Jaejoong agrees, effectively translating. "I hate trying on clothes. Unless I made them." He presses closer, shivering. "I want to make my own and buy my parents a big house."

 

_Not_ the fucking time to sound sympathetic and relatable, Yoochun groans to himself, twisting around to pry the parasite off, "You _said_ —"

 

"I also said," Jaejoong reminds him softly, wedging a knee between Yoochun's, "that you're my heater now."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

" _How_ much snow on the tracks?" Yunho gapes at the conductor, jaw slack.

 

Changmin presses his forehead to the frosted window, mouth twitching uncontrollably.


End file.
